You are tall enough to hold the subway pole way over my head out of comfort, not necessity. Is it possible to tell the future from the lines in your wrist and heel of your hand instead of your palm? You have on what might be and expensive watch, but I can’t tell. The band is black and the clasp says Stuhrling, little flat links interlocked to make it look almost woven. There is some wear along the edge closest to your hand, silver peeking through. It rests about two inches below the heel of your hand. Your nails are trimmed short with no dirt or grease under them.
Your arm is covered in dark hair except for that vulnerable space over the inside of the inside of your wrist. Your blue button up shirt is rolled up to your elbows so I can’t see, but I assume, I believe the inside bend of your elbow is equally bare. Perfect for my mouth to kiss. Your shirt has pearlescent blue-grey buttons, the collar undone so I can see your white undershirt. You have tucked your shirt into your well-fitted black dress slacks that have black buttons on the butt pockets. You have a slender leather belt around your hips and resting across your pelvis is a leather briefcase that is hung across your chest.
Dark brown, maybe black hair with sideburns and a little stubble. You are reading a book, taking your hand off the pole to turn the pages. You leave a stop before me and it is bittersweet sight.
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